Misadventured Piteous Overthrows
by girlwithacinderblockgarden
Summary: Without prior knowledge, evil does not have a face, and can take any form, including that of a lover.  But the children must pay for the sins of their fathers, and that is the story told today.  Love prevails, even in death, because sometimes, in life,
1. Chapter 1

_Two households, both alike in dignity,_

_In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,_

_From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,_

_Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean._

_From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;_

_Whose misadventured piteous overthrows_

_Do with their death bury their parents' strife._

_The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,_

_And the continuance of their parents' rage,_

_Which, but their children's end, nought could remove,_

_Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;_

_The which if you with patient ears attend,_

_What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend._

* * *

><p>Should anyone have guessed that in the end, the children of the two rival families would end up in love, most everyone would have called them crazy. The Edwards and the Goldsworthys were notoriously enemies, and most would speculate the children had never laid eyes on each other. Perhaps that was the mistake of their fathers. Without prior knowledge, evil does not have a face, and can take any form, including that of a lover. But the children must pay for the sins of their fathers, and that is the story told today. Love prevails, even in death, because sometimes, in life, love is not enough.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Elijah Goldsworthy roared into the parking lot of Degrassi Community School in his vintage hearse, twenty minutes late, as always. Dressed in head to toe black, he barely fit the profile for the son of the mayor of Toronto. With his penchant for tardiness and his rebellious wardrobe, combined with his distaste for authority and devil may care attitude, it was a wonder he hadn't been expelled yet… until one brought back the idea that he was the son of the mayor. As he walked the stairs, he lit a cigarette, inhaling the nicotine as he came to sit at the top, joining the other two teens that made up his gruesome posse. "Torres, you little fucker, what's the latest in this mundane world? I heard perhaps that there was another fight between the banal ones we call the members of the Edwards family and yourself, Moreno?" he chuckled, glancing at the bruise forming on Imogen's cheek, tinged with scratches he was sure came from Alliah. The girl glared at him from behind her glasses, and quickly began to take down her crazy hair buns, letting her hair fall over her face to hide some of the damage. Elijah took another drag of his cigarette, leaning back on his elbows as Adam began to talk. "You're right on the fight; had to drag this one away from it this morning. The little one went after her once she began taunting Randall and the entire idea of his campaign. You'd think she was personally invested in the idea or something. The big guy, Drew, pulled her out, but not before glaring at me and warning me to not come near their side of the school or town again, and to pass the warning to you," he said, absentmindedly bumping fists with Elijah over their small territorial victory. Though the two sets of teens had nothing personally against each other, they all seemed ringed around the upcoming mayoral elections. Since Elijah's father was the incumbent, he naturally had a pull towards keeping the power he was used to in this city. However, a new candidate had come up in the race, and was quickly threatening the status of his father as mayor. Randall Edwards was "the voice of the people", or so his campaign claimed, and the young people of Toronto were quickly flocking to him, though Elijah couldn't imagine why. The man, with his Christian values and conservative views, didn't seem appealing at all, not compared to his father. However, the school was quickly becoming divided over the election, and fights were popping up all over the place. Elijah was quick to never get in them, "Fighting will give you a reputation, Elijah, one we can't afford, since that reflects badly on me," but he did keep an eye out to try to end them when he could, contrary to his attitude and rebellious nature. He had his reasons—Julia had always hated when he got in fights, and a fight had been… he couldn't finish his thoughts before the pain started to take over and he had to take a long drag of the cigarette to numb his thoughts. After she had died, Elijah swore he would never love again, much to Imogen's obvious chagrin. However, he had seen no purpose in ever loving again, as it would taint her memory and the love they shared, and resigned himself to a dark life, wearing black in tribute, and rarely smiling, feeling he had to pay for what he did.

He ignored the rest of Adam and Imogen's prattling, stubbing out his cigarette on the stair with the heel of his boots, and slung his bag over his shoulder, lazily walking into school under Principal Simpson's disapproving eye, smirking as he flipped him off before walking into Ms. Dawes's senior English class, silently handing her his essay on The Great Gatsby before sliding into his seat and pulling out his copy of The Scarlet Letter, becoming a good student for the one period of the day he ever allowed himself to slip back into the self he had abandoned years ago.

~.~

Clare Edwards sat up, stretching, barely paying heed to the fact that it was past 10 in the morning, and she was just now waking up. Being homeschooled did have its advantages, one of which being that her private tutor didn't come till mid afternoon, once the public school had finished for the day. As she awoke, a maid came in to bring her breakfast, complete with the itinerary her mother had prepared for the day. She rolled her eyes slightly at the mandatory lunch with the campaign manager to work on the family's public image, now that her father wanted to make her presence public to bring the family man aspect into his campaign as a last-minute vote garner, and realized this meant being coached on what to say, what to wear, and how to act. Clare hated the attention this would bring to her—she much rather would have been curled up in her window seat, oblivious to the world at hand and lost in a book. That had been her life for as long as she could remember it, and the idea of having to be the press's darling was something she would have rather avoided. But, it pleased her mother, and helped her father, so she endured it.

Lunch was dreadful, as she feared, especially as she was lectured on the Goldsworthys—do not speak of them to the press, do not look at them unless instructed to do so, do not glare, do not say anything that could be construed as spiteful or rude, and above all, do NOT associate with their son—and Clare was quickly bored with the entire act. Perhaps it would have been better to stay hidden, she thought, and have avoided all this trouble. She could have cared less about the Goldsworthys, and even the elections itself. When the maid came in to alert her that her tutor had arrived, she gratefully leapt up from the table to run upstairs and begin her lessons for the day. She ran into her room, pausing to grab her completed essay and her dog eared copy of The Scarlet Letter, and collapsed at her sitting table across from her tutor. "I swear, if I had had to sit through another minute of that awful meeting, I might have died, Ms. Dawes! Now, where's the essay for me to proof?" she asked desperately. She was in dire need of a distraction from the whole election process, and her writing partner from the public school's essay was just what she needed at the moment. Ms. Dawes handed over her star pupil's essay to Clare, along with a red pen, and listened to Clare prattle on about the meeting and expectations while she attacked the essay furiously. Clare was no doubt her best writer, with the essay she was proofing coming in a close second, and when the idea struck her to make the two students pen pals of a sort, she couldn't deny herself the indulgence. Surely enough, once the two students had begun editing each other's work, they had become stronger writers, each playing on each other's strengths to improve. "Ms. Dawes," Clare piped up, interrupting her thoughts, "I thought you said he had been working on his wordiness. Surely, in his last paper, he wasn't quite so… overzealous with adjectives," she mused, wondering why her prodding for concise articulation in his writing had been cast aside so quickly. His thoughts on Gatsby were good, she couldn't deny that, but they were long-winded and overly wordy. She had been working on this with him long-distance since August, and it was almost Halloween. Surely, her critiques hadn't faded so quickly. As she finished up the paper, she grabbed her notes and settled in to discuss The Scarlet Letter.

The lesson was cut short, however, by a small, dark haired girl bursting into Clare's room with a black eye and a string of curses flying out of her mouth. Alliah Bhandari had made her entrance, and heaven help her if she was to be ignored. "Alli, what happened to you?" Clare exclaimed, running over to examine her best friend's eye. "I got in a fight with that whore, Imogen Moreno, because she started mouthing off about your dad and the campaign," she seethed, wincing slightly when Clare tried to touch her eye. "It's no big deal, I just probably need some ice on it, but she got what she deserved," Alli said as she flexed her hands, noting her manicure needed a touch up after scratching up Imogen's face. "Drew pulled me off her, but if I had really gotten a chance… She'd be one dead bitch." Clare flinched at Alli's language, as she rarely used anything stronger than gosh or witch, and paged a maid to get ice for her eye. These were the times she indeed was glad she was homeschooled instead of trying to brave the hallways of Degrassi. The school seemed rough, and she was glad she wasn't near the fighting that seemed to plague it.

Clare was snapped out of her thoughts by Alli running towards her closet and pulling out a simple, sleeveless white dress, and laying it out on her bed. Running back to the closet, Alli also pulled a pair of flats for Clare, and demanded that she get dressed immediately. Clare did so, confused, and as she stepped out of her bathroom, Alli practically attacked her in front of the vanity, straightening out her curls and applying delicate makeup to her face. "Alli, what on earth are you doing to me?" Clare asked, confused as to why she was being turned into a life sized doll for seemingly no purpose. "Tonight, we are going to costume party, Clare Bear! And before you run your mouth, we're doing this under the guise of dinner and a movie, a girl's night. I've got the rest of your costume in the car, so your mother won't get suspicious, and we're going to have fun! It's at the Berishes' place, which is neutral, so don't get your panties in a wad about that. Now, let's go, babe, before it's too late to get me ready, too," Alli said, putting the last dash of gloss on her lips and dragging her out the door, handing her a small white clutch with her necessities before waving to Mrs. Edwards and dashing to the car. Clare turned around, looking at the large pair of wings in the backseat, and surmised that she must be going as an angel. "Really, Alli? Playing on the Saint Clare again, are we?" Clare asked, rolling her eyes. Sure, she was religious, and she kept to herself and didn't date, but that didn't make her a saint. However, Alli and her boyfriend Drew seemed to think so, and had nicknamed her as such. She waited patiently in the car as Alli dashed in her house to throw on her costume—since when was lingerie and bunny ears a costume to begin with?—and sat patiently as she touched up her makeup in the visor mirror before Alli hit the gas and sped off towards the Berishes', which was teeming with cars and teens when they got there. Alli helped Clare slip on her white feathered wings and the two girls headed into the party, descending the giant staircase as the music blared around them and hundreds of kids populated the dance floor below.

~.~

Imogen, Adam, and Elijah stumbled up to the curb of the Berishes' house, having begun their party a bit earlier. Imogen was clearly more buzzed than the two boys, and stood up, flinging her arms wide open while screaming at the top of her lungs that she was, "KING OF THE WORLD!" before dissolving into drunken giggles and sitting down dangerously close to Elijah, who was decidedly less incapacitated than she. Ignoring her largely, Elijah turned to Adam, contemplating whether or not he should share what he was about to, but the alcohol in his system urged him on. "Adam, man, lately, I've been having these… dreams," Elijah began, but was quickly interrupted by Imogen. "Dreams, Elijah? What kind of dreams? Am I the staaaaar of your dreams?" she drunkenly slurred as her hand traveled up his thigh, dangerously close to his crotch, before he caught it and held it firmly to keep it from wandering any further. "Not those kinds of dreams, Imo," he chastised gently, turning again to Adam, continuing. "I've been having these vague dreams, in which nothing is concrete except for this girl… an angel, almost. Everything's a blur, and nothing makes sense, and it's a nightmare, practically, but this girl… she's the anchor to it all. She holds me to a reality, and I don't know why. I've never seen her before in my life, but somehow, I know her better than I've known anyone. It's terrifying, and calming at the same time. She's an angel in a storm of unknown, and I wish… I wish she was real," he finished, musing over the girl from his dreams. Adam took another swig from his flask before digging into his pocket and pulling out a small white pill. "Goldsworthy," he said, pressing the tablet into Elijah's palm, "You, my good sir, have got to lighten up! Take one of these, and forget about your troubles, in love and in life. Have one night where you just let go and live, my boy!" Elijah took the pill in hand, noting that alcohol made Adam surprisingly philosophical and sound rather like an old man. The idea of a night of ecstasy ordinarily wouldn't appeal to him in the slightest, but tonight, it was Halloween, and Elijah threw all caution to the wind and downed the tiny white circle, letting the flashing lights and pounding bass take over his senses as he slipped on his devils horns and led the way into the party.

The scene before them was mind-numbing, even without the effects of the drug in his system. Bodies flashed left and right, melding into each other to the beat of the music, and the lights dizzied him entirely before the high was too much to bear, and he stumbled off in search of the nearest bathroom, dousing himself in a sink full of water, the cold sensation finally lifting the cloud of ecstasy from his senses and allowing him to be mostly sober, the way he preferred. He straightened his red blazer and cleaned the slight smears of liner from under his eyes, and proceeded to make his way back into the noise of the hub outside. The pounding rap music lessened and gave way to a mellow beat he recognized well, and he grabbed some of the punch to drink as he turned towards the stairs, only to drop his cup at the sight before him. Had he not known he had rinsed the traces of the drug from his system, he would have assumed he was hallucinating as he watched the figure in white descend the stairs, wings trailing behind her. Ironically, as an afterthought, the lyrics spoke for him—"Hello there, the angel from my nightmares." The girl he had been seeing in his dreams for months had appeared before him, almost as if he had drawn her up himself, every detail of her face exactly as he had dreamt it. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, and his body instinctively led him to her, up the stairs and in front of her, offering a hand as the devil asked an angel to dance.

~.~

Clare and Alli surveyed the scene before them as they stood on the stairs, watching as the teens broke apart from their gyrations and began to pull each other closer as the music changed to a slower, more romantic beat. Alli was quickly snatched away by Drew, and Clare was left alone on the staircase, observing everything as she got lost in the world she rarely saw. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked down, and right in front of her, a dark haired devil stood in front of her, dressed in red and black, with a hand extended to her. Her hand trembled as it reached out to accept, her body afraid naturally of the stranger asking her to dance, but as she caught his eye, the fear faded and her body trembled with a different sort of feeling. His large hands held hers securely as they reached the center of the dance floor, and they held each other as closely as if they were lovers, and not total strangers. They slowly swayed on the spot, and Elijah placed his lips to her ear, breathing slightly as he whispered to her quietly that she was the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes on. Her grip on him tightened at his words, and in turn, she whispered a single word in his ear: "Clara." She couldn't explain why, but her instincts told her to give him a different name. In reply, he breathed another word into her ear, and she was positive she had never heard a better name than Elliot. The song ended and the music returned to the pounding bass, but the mood of the song still held the two teens in a trance. Elijah laced his fingers through Clare's and led her off the dance floor, intent on finding a place that might be quiet enough for them to talk. Clare gasped as he led her out into the garden of the house, and sat down on the bench in the middle of the roses. Clare stood in front of him as he stared up at her, the look on his face one of wonder and uncertainty mimicking the one she was sure she was wearing as well. They locked eyes, and a shiver ran up her spine as his lips parted and he stood up, taking her hands in his, grasping them tightly and running his thumbs over the backs. Clare's breath was short and shallow, her nerves starting to get the best of her as his eyes bore into hers, seeming almost to stare down into her soul. A faint whisper tickled her lips as he breathed out a single question: "Did my heart ever love till now?" Clare bit her lip softly as she continued to stare into his eyes. There was something about him she implicitly trusted, despite the kneejerk reaction to run away. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could, his lips met hers gently, removing any doubt she may have had before. Surely, this couldn't be anything but right. As they pulled away, slightly breathless, Eli pulled her hand in his and sat them down, kissing her softly again. They tried to speak, but the urge was too strong. Sooner than they would have liked, the party ended, and they walked with each other to the entrance of the house, pausing to kiss slowly, savouring each other's taste. As Alli came into view and she knew her time was up, Clare held her hand out to Elliot, and said one word: "Phone." They handed over their respective devices, swapping numbers, before Eli grabbed the sides of her face and brought her lips to his one last time for the night. "Goodnight, bright angel. If you're in heaven, I may consider converting," he mumbled against her lips before the hand of her friend yanked her away from him. He touched his lips gently as she was pulled down the front lawn, raising a hand in return to her wave. This girl, Clara, was fascinating. And somehow, he already felt half in love with her.


End file.
